Wyoming by Edward Sylvester Ellis

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Title: Wyoming

Author: Edward Sylvester Ellis

Release Date: January 5, 2013 [eBook #41784]

Language: English

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WYOMING SERIES.—No. 1.

WYOMING

BY

EDWARD S. ELLIS

AUTHOR OF "YOUNG PIONEER SERIES," "LOG CABIN SERIES," ETC., ETC.

PHILADELPHIA

HENRY T. COATES & CO.

Copyright, 1888.

BY

PORTER & COATES.

"He was stopped in the most startling manner that can be imagined."

WYOMING.

CHAPTER I.

On the sultry third of July, 1778, Fred Godfrey, a sturdy youth of eighteen years, was riding at a breakneck speed
down the Wyoming Valley, in the direction of the settlement, from which he saw columns of smoke rolling upward, and
whence, during the few pauses of his steed, he heard the rattling discharge of firearms and the shouts of combatants.

"I wonder whether I am too late," he asked himself more than once, and he urged his splendid horse to a greater pace;
"the road never seemed so long."

Ah, there was good cause for the anxiety of the lad, for in that lovely Wyoming Valley lived those who were dearer to
him than all the world beside, and whatever fate overtook the settlers must be shared by him as well. He had ridden his
horse hard, and his flanks glistened with wet and foam, but though every foot of the winding road was familiar to him, it
appeared in his torturing impatience to be double its usual length.

Fred Godfrey had received the promise of his father, on the breaking out of the Revolution, that he might enlist in the
patriot army so soon as he reached the age of seventeen. On the very day that he attained that age he donned the
Continental uniform, made for him by loving hands, bade his friends good-bye, and hastened away to where
Washington was longing for just such lusty youths as he who appeared to be several years younger than he really was.

Fred was a handsome, athletic youngster, and he sat his horse with the grace of a crusader. Although the day was
warm, and his face glowed with perspiration, he wore his cocked hat, blue coat with its white facings, the belt around
the waist and another which passed over one shoulder ere it joined the one around the middle of his body, knee-
breeches, and strong stockings and shoes. His rifle was slung across his back, and a couple of loaded single-barreled
pistols were thrust in his belt, where they could be drawn the instant needed.

During his year's service in the patriot army Fred had proven himself an excellent soldier, and the dash and nerve which
he showed in more than one instance caught the eye of Washington himself, and won the youth a lieutenancy, at the time
when he was the youngest member of his company.

The ardent patriot was full of ambition, and was sure, should no accident befall him, of gaining higher honors. When he
tramped with several other recruits from Wyoming to the camp of the Continentals, hundreds of miles away, one of his
greatest comforts was the belief that, no matter how the current of war drifted back and forth, there was no danger of
its reaching Wyoming. That lovely and secluded valley was so far removed from the tread of the fierce hosts that they
might feel secure.

But behold! News came to Washington that the Tories and Indians were about to march into the valley with torch and
tomahawk, and he was begged to send re-enforcements without delay. The Father of his Country was then on his
campaign through the Jerseys. The British army had withdrawn from Philadelphia, where it spent the winter, and Clinton
with a part of the force was marching overland to New York, with the Continentals in pursuit.

The campaign was so important that the commander-in-chief could ill afford to spare a man. He knew that Wyoming
was not entirely defenseless. Colonel Zebulon Butler of the Continental army was marshaling the old men and boys, and
there was the strong defense known as Forty Fort, built by the original settlers from Connecticut, not to mention
Wilkesbarre near at hand, so that it would seem the settlers ought to be able to protect themselves against any force
likely to be brought against them.

However, Washington told several of his recruits from Wyoming of the appeal that had been made to him, and gave
them permission to go to the help of their friends, though he added that he did not think it possible for them to reach the
ground in time to be of service.

But a half dozen started on foot toward the threatened point. Within a day's tramp of their destination they fell
somewhat apart, as each, in his familiarity of the country, believed that he knew a shorter and quicker way home than
the others.

Fred Godfrey was almost in sight of his home, when he was both pleased and alarmed by coming upon an estray horse.
He was saddled and bridled, and though contentedly cropping the grass at the roadside, the perspiration and jaded

look showed that he had come from the battle-ground. It was startling to know that such was the fact, and
supplemented as it was by the reports of guns, shouts, and the black volumes of smoke pouring upward, Fred was filled
with an anguish of misgiving.

Without stopping to make inquiries or to guess who could have owned the estray steed, the young patriot slipped
forward, caught the bridle before the animal had time to scent danger, and vaulting lightly into the saddle, turned the
head of the horse toward Wyoming, and striking his heels against his ribs, quickly urged him to a dead run.

"I am needed there," said Fred, urging his spirited animal still more, and peering down the highway; "you're the best
horse I ever rode, but I can't afford to spare you now."

Fred Godfrey not only was close to the stirring scenes that marked that memorable massacre, but he was among them
sooner even than he anticipated.

CHAPTER II.

Just here we must turn aside for a minute or two, in order to understand the situation.

On the third of July, Colonel Zebulon Butler, of the Continental army, had marched forth at the head of his two hundred
and odd boys, old men, and a few able-bodied soldiers to meet his cousin, the British Colonel Butler, with his horde of
soldiers, Tories, and Iroquois Indians.

"We come out to fight, not only for liberty," said the patriot leader, as the battle was about to open, "but for our lives
and that which is dearer than our lives—to preserve our homes from conflagration, and our wives and children from the
tomahawk."

For a time all went well, and Colonel Zebulon Butler began to hope that the marauders would be driven off, but his
force was unsteady, and some of them gave way when they saw their enemies as they swarmed out of the woods and
assailed them.

The trembling mothers who were prayerfully listening to the sounds of battle on the plain above, heard the regular
platoon firing which showed that all was going well; but, by and by, the increasing yells, the dropping shots, the blaze of
musketry from the swamp on the left of the fighting settlers, where the Iroquois were rushing forth, the panic-stricken
fugitives coming into sight here and there, white, panting and wild, told the dreadful truth. The patriots had been
overwhelmed by the invaders, who were driving everything before them. But a single hope remained—flight.

Some might succeed in reaching the mountains on the other side the river, and possibly a few would be able to force
their way through the dismal wilderness known as the "Shades of Death," and reach Stroudsburg and the sparse
settlements on the upper Delaware, many miles away.

The moment the patriots began flying before the Tories and Indians, the panic spread to all.

It is a historical fact that in the flight the pursuers shot many of the patriot officers and soldiers in the thigh, so as to
disable them from running, and left them on the ground to be finally disposed of afterwards, while the Iroquois hastened
after the other fugitives.

Many of these were tomahawked in their flight; others fled down the river banks in the direction of Wilkesbarre, on the
opposite side of the river; others made for the mountains back of the battle-ground; still others hastened to the
protection of the Forty Fort, while a great many found a temporary refuge in the undergrowth of Monocacy Island, in
the Susquehanna. Still others got across the river and plunged into the mountainous wilderness and began their toilsome
tramp through the section I have named, and which is still known as the "Shades of Death."

It was at this hour that Fred Godfrey galloped directly into the massacre in his desperate resolve to do all he could to
save his friends.

He had turned off from the main highway, and was making toward a point whence came the sounds of sharp firing, and
such shouts as to show that some unusual conflict was going on. He caught glimpses of figures moving among the trees,
but he paid no heed to them, and pressed steadily forward over a half-broken path until he was stopped in the most
startling manner that can be imagined—that is, by a rifle-shot.

Some one fired from the front, and undoubtedly would have struck the youthful rider, had not his horse at the very
instant snuffed the danger and flung up his head. The action saved the life of the rider at the expense of the steed, who
received the cruel bullet and lunged forward and fell to the ground with such suddenness that but for the dexterity of
Fred Godfrey he would have been crushed.

As it was, the youth saved himself by a hair's breadth, leaping clear of the saddle and brute just in the nick of time.

The thin wreath of smoke was curling upward from the undergrowth, and the horse was in the act of falling, when a
Seneca Indian, in his war paint and agleam with ferocity, bounded from the cover, and with his smoking gun in his hand

and the other grasping the handle of his tomahawk, dashed towards the patriot, whom he evidently believed was badly
wounded.

"S'render! s'render!" he shrieked, coming down upon him as if fired from a cannon.

"I'm not in that business just now," snapped out Fred Godfrey, leveling and firing his pistol, with the muzzle almost in the
face of the fierce warrior.

The aim could not have been more accurate. The subsequent incidents of the Wyoming massacre were of no interest to
that Seneca warrior, for the sharp crack of the little weapon was scarcely more sudden than was the ending of his
career.

CHAPTER III.

Fred Godfrey did not stop to reload his pistol. He had another ready for use, and he unshipped his rifle in a twinkling,
and hurried for the point where he hoped to gain some tidings of his loved ones. Everything was in a swirl, and of his
own knowledge he could not tell the proper course to take.

He ran through the wood toward the point for which he was making at the moment the Seneca Indian shot his horse,
but, short as was the distance, all sounds of conflict were over by the time he reached his destination.

Among the parties dashing hither and thither, in the blind effort to escape the Tories and Indians, who seemed to be
everywhere, Fred recognized several friends and neighbors. Indeed, since Wyoming was his native place, it may be said
that nearly all the fugitives were known to him.

"Why ain't you with your folks?" suddenly asked a middle-aged farmer, who stopped for a moment in his panting flight
to exchange a few words and to gain breath.

"Can you tell me where they are?" asked Fred in turn.

"They're well on their way across the Susquehanna by this time, if they haven't reached the other shore."

"How do you know that?" asked Fred, his heart bounding with hope at the news which he was afraid could not be true.

"I saw them go down to the river bank before the fighting begun: Gravity told me that just as soon as he saw how things
were going he meant to run to where they were waiting and take them over in his scow."

"How do you know that he has done so?"

"I don't know it of a certainty, but I saw Gravity making for the river bank a while ago, and I've no doubt he did what
he set out to do."

This news was not quite so good as Fred supposed from the first remark of his friend, but it was encouraging. Before
he could ask anything more, the other made a break and was gone.

"Oh, if they only did get across the river," muttered Fred, making haste thither; "it is their only hope."

And now it is time that you were told something about those in whom the young patriot felt such painful interest.

They were Maggie Brainerd, whose father, a leading settler from Connecticut, had gone out with the company to fight
the invaders of Wyoming; Eva, her eight-year-old sister, and Aunt Peggy Carey, the sister of the dead parent, and who
had been the best of mothers to the children for the last three years. Maggie and Eva were the half-sisters of Fred
Godfrey, between whom existed the sweetest affection.

Maggie was a year younger than Fred, and Aunt Peggy was a peppery lady in middle life, who detested Tories as much
as she did the father of all evil himself. When Mr. Brainerd bade each an affectionate good-bye and hurried away with
the others to take part in the disastrous fight, they huddled close to the river bank, hoping he would soon return to them
with the news that the invaders had been routed and driven away.

Side by side with the patriotic father marched the servant of the family—Gravity Gimp, an enormous African, powerful,
good-natured, and so devoted to every member of his household that he gladly risked his life for them.

Gravity went into the battle with his gun on his shoulder and with the resolve to do his part like a man. He loaded and
fired many times, but at the first sign of panic he broke and made for the river side, determined to save the women folks
there, or die in the attempt. He lost sight of his master, whom he left loading and firing with the coolness of a veteran. It
did not occur to Gravity that he might do good service by giving some attention to the head of the family, who had not
half the strength and endurance of himself.

Aunt Peggy, Maggie, and Eva waited on the river bank, with throbbing hearts, the issue of the battle. When it became
certain that the patriots had suffered a check, they hoped that it was only for a brief time, and that they would speedily

regain the lost ground.

While they waited, the smoke from blazing Fort Wintermoot was wafted down the valley, and became perceptible to
the taste as well as to the sight. The fugitives were seen to be taking to the river, fields, and woods, and the painted
Iroquois were rushing hither and thither, gathering in their fearful harvest of death.

"Aunt," said Maggie, taking the hand of Eva, "it won't do to wait another minute."

"But what will become of your father and Gravity?"

"They are in the hands of God," was the reverential reply of the courageous girl, who had asked herself the same
question.

When her loved parent had kissed her good-bye he made her promise that on the very moment she became assured of
the defeat of the patriots she would lose no time in getting as far away as possible. She would have felt justified in
breaking that pledge could she have believed there was any hope of helping her father, but she knew there was none.

Eva was in sore distress, for now that she understood, in her vague way, the whole peril, her heart went out to the
absent ones.

"Where's papa and Gravity?" she asked, holding back, with the tears running down her cheeks.

"They are doing their best to keep the bad Indians away," replied Maggie, restraining by a great effort her own feelings.

"I don't want to go till papa comes," pleaded the broken-hearted little one.

"But he wants us to go; he told me so, Eva."

"Did he? Then I'll go with you, but I feel dreadful bad."

And she ran forward, now that she knew she was doing what her father wished her to do.

CHAPTER IV.

The scene at this moment was terrifying.

The river was swarming with fleeing soldiers, old men, women, and children, struggling to reach the other side and get
away from the merciless hordes assailing them.

Where so many were taking to the river, it would seem that there was little hope for the three, who were moving along
the bank toward some point that would take them out of the rush.

For a time they attracted no special notice, but it was impossible that this should continue.

"Oh, the scand'lous villains!" muttered Aunt Peggy, applying her favorite epithet to the Tories; "how I would like to
wring their necks! I've no doubt that Jake Golcher is among them. The idea of his coming to our house to court you—"

"There, there," interrupted Maggie, "this is no time to speak of such things; Jacob Golcher is among them, for I saw him
a few minutes ago, and we may need his friendship."

"I'd like to see me—"

"There's Gravity!" broke in Eva, clapping her hands. The other two, turning their heads, saw that she spoke the truth.

The bulky negro servant of the family came limping toward them with his smoking musket in hand. He was bare-
headed, like Maggie and Eva, and his garments were badly torn. He was panting from his severe exertion, and the
perspiration streamed down his dusty face.

"Where's father?" was the first question Maggie asked, as he drew near.

"Can't tell," was the reply; "when I last seed him, he was fightin' like all creation, and graderlly workin' off toward the
woods."

"Then there is hope for him!" exclaimed Maggie, looking yearningly at the servant, as if asking for another word of
encouragement.

"Hope for him? Course dere am, and so dere am for you if you hurry out ob dis place."

"But where can we go, Gravity? I promised father to try to get away, but how can we do so?"

"I'll soon show you," replied the African, rapidly recovering his wind, and moving along the bank in the direction of the
present site of Kingston.

Gravity knew there was no chance for his friends until they reached the other side of the river, but it would not do to
enter the stream near where they then stood.

A portion of the Susquehanna was so deep that it would be necessary for all to swim, and, strange as it may seem, the
only one of the party who could do so was Maggie Brainerd herself. Though Gravity had lived for years along the river,
he could not swim a stroke.

It was a wonder that the little party had not already attracted the notice of the horde swarming along the shores. They
must do so very soon and Gravity hurried his gait.

"I'm looking for dat scow ob mine," he explained; "if any ob you happen to cotch sight ob it—"

Eva Brainerd gave utterance to such a shriek that every one stopped and looked toward her.

Without speaking, she pointed up the bank where a hideously painted Iroquois was in the act of drawing back his
gleaming tomahawk and hurling it at Gravity Gimp, who until that moment was unconscious of his peril.

The negro held his loaded gun in hand, but the time was too brief for him to turn it to account. In fact, at the very
moment he looked at the redskin, the latter let fly.

With remarkable quickness, Gravity, knowing that the Indian was aiming at his head, dropped his shoulders just as the
weapon whizzed past, and striking the ground, went bounding end over end for a dozen yards.

The Iroquois was amazed by his own failure. He stared for a single moment, and then, seeing that the dusky fellow was
unhurt, he brought his gun to his shoulder, with the intention of destroying the only protector the women and children
had, so as to leave them defenseless.

But in the way of raising his gun to his shoulder, taking aim and firing, Gravity Gimp was five seconds in advance of the
noble red man: enough said.

"De fust duty arter shootin' off a gun am to load her up agin," remarked Gravity, as he began pouring a charge from his
powder horn into the palm of his hand, preparatory to letting it run down the barrel of his weapon.

"Don't wait," pleaded Maggie, greatly agitated by what had just taken place, and by the shouts, cries, and reports of
guns about them; "if we tarry we are lost."

"I reckon I'm too well 'quainted wid dese parts to got lost," said the servant, who was really making all the haste he
could in the way of reloading his gun. In a moment he had poured the powder into the pan of his weapon.

"Now we'll trabbel," he said, hurrying again along the river shore. He took enormous strides, his gait being that peculiar
hurried walk which is really faster than an ordinary trot.

It compelled the others to run, Maggie still clasping the hand of Eva, while Aunt Peggy forgot her dignity in the terrors of
the time and held her pace with them.

The truth was that though Gravity was the owner of a scow which he had partly hidden at the time he saw the possibility
of its need, he was afraid it had been taken by others of the fugitives that had stumbled upon it.

Less than a hundred yards remained to be passed, and, as that was fast put behind them, even the phlegmatic Gravity
began to show some nervousness.

"I thinks we're gwine to make it," he said, recognizing several well-known landmarks; "and, if we does, and gits to de
oder shore and has 'bout two hundred and fifty miles start ob de Tories and Injins, why dat will be sort ob cheerin' like."

All this time the sable guide, although walking fast, limped as if he were hurt.

"What makes you lame?" asked Eva.

"I was hit by a cannon-ball on de knee," was the astonishing answer: "it slewed my leg round a little, but I'll soon be all
right again."

At this moment, when the hearts of all were beating high with hope, a rustling was heard among the undergrowth on
their right, and the little company paused and looked up, expecting to see a dozen or more painted Iroquois in their war
paint.

The click, click of the African's rifle, as he drew back the flint, showed that he was ready to do everything to defend
those who cowered behind him like scared sheep.

To the surprise of each, however, a single man came hurriedly forth. All identified him as Jake Golcher, an old resident
of Wyoming, but one of the bitterest of Tories, whose hatred of his former neighbors and friends seemed as intense as
that of Queen Esther, or Katharine Montour, one of the leaders of the invaders.

He was as much surprised as the fugitives themselves, and he stared at them with open mouth, slouch hat thrown on the
back of his head, and the stock of his gun resting at his feet. He was the first to recover his speech, and, with an
expletive, he demanded:

"Where did you come from?"

"Am you abdressing your remarks to me or to de ladies?" asked Gravity of the man whom he detested, and of whom,
even then, he had not the slightest fear.

"I'm speaking to all of you," said Golcher, glancing furtively at the vinegar face of Aunt Peggy, and bestowing a beaming
smile on Maggie Brainerd.

Much as the latter despised the Tory, she had too much sense to show it at this time. Walking toward him, she clasped
her hands, and with an emotion that was certainly genuine, she said:

"Oh, Mr. Golcher, won't you help us?"

"What are you axin' him dat for?" broke in Gravity; "we don't want no help from him."

Aunt Peggy was evidently of the same mind, for though she said nothing, she gave a sniff and toss of her head that were
more expressive than words.

The sallow face of the Tory flushed, as he looked down in the sweet countenance of Maggie Brainerd, made tenfold
more winsome by the glow of the cheeks and the sparkle of the eyes, arising from the excitement of her situation.

Bear in mind that the party had gone so far along the bank of the river that they were somewhat removed from the
swarm of fleeing fugitives, and therefore no immediate danger threatened; but the call for flight was as loud as ever, and
a few minutes' delay was liable to bring down a score of Indians and Tories.

To none was this fact more evident than to Maggie Brainerd. In truth, she believed that Golcher was at the head of a
company within call, and she sought to win his good-will before it was too late.

Gravity stood with his gun at his side, the hammer raised, and ready to fire the instant it became necessary. One foot
was thrown forward, and his whole demeanor was that of enmity and defiance.

I may as well say that the servant was trying hard to persuade himself that it was not his duty to raise his piece and
shoot the renegade without any further warning.

It would have been shocking, and yet there would have been some palliation for it.

In a short time the African's debate with himself ended in what may be called a compromise.

"I'll keep my eye on him while dis foolish conversation goes on, and de minute he winks at Miss Maggie, or says anyting
dat she don't like, I'll pull trigger."

CHAPTER V.

"Do you want me to befriend you?" asked the renegade, bending his head down close to the scared countenance of
Maggie Brainerd, smiling and trying to speak in so low a voice that no one else could catch his words.

"Of course I do; don't you see what danger we are in? Oh, Mr. Golcher—"

"Don't Mister me," he interrupted, with a reproving grin; "call me Jake."

"Oh, Jake, have you seen anything of father?"

"Where would I see him?"

"Why, he went out with the rest to fight the Indians and Tories, and you were with them."

"Oh, yes; I did see him," said Golcher, as though the incident was so slight that he had forgotten it for the time: "he
fought well."

"Was he—was he—Oh, Jake, tell me?—was he hurt?"

"I don't think he got so much as a scratch; he was with three or four others, and they were getting in the best kind of
work; but you know it was no use for any one; I saw that they would be shot down where they stood, so I ran up and
told your father to follow me; you know that nobody dare touch him when I took charge. I led him and his friends back
toward the mountains and stayed by them till all danger was over, and then I bade them good-bye: if they have taken
the least care and done as I told them to do, they are a great deal safer than you are at this very minute."

Maggie Brainerd's heart sank within her. She knew that the story that Jake Golcher had just told her was without an
iota of truth. He had lied so clumsily that he had not deceived her at all.

The very question which he had asked about her parent was proof that he had not seen him, and therefore could know
nothing of him.

The young lady was shocked, but she was helpless. Her duty was to do her utmost for the safety of those who were
now with her, and she was sure that Golcher could give great help, if he chose to do so.

"Jake," said she, speaking with all the earnestness of her nature, "this is a dreadful day for Wyoming; I can hardly realize
what has taken place; I do not believe that any one on this side of the river is safe."

"Of course he isn't—that is, none of the rebels is; our folks are all right."

"Can you save us?"

"I don't know what's to hinder—that is, if I take the notion, but I don't feel like doing much for that spitfire of an aunt,
that insulted me the last time that I called at your house."

"You musn't mind her peculiarities; she is a good woman, and then, you know, she is my friend."

"Well, that makes a good deal of difference—that's a fact," remarked Golcher, with such a grotesque attempt to look
arch and loving, that the watchful African, instead of firing upon him as he had meant to do, smiled.

"I'm afeard he don't feel berry well; he'll feel a good deal worse if Aunt Peggy or me gets hold of him."

"And then," added Golcher, glancing at Gravity, "you heard the impudence of that servant."

"Because he is a servant you ought to excuse him; I should feel very sorry to have him suffer harm."

"I don't mind taking particular care of you and your little sister there, but I would prefer to leave Aunt Peggy, as you call
her, and the darkey to shift for themselves."

"Then I do not want you to do anything for Eva and me," said Maggie, resolutely, feeling that she was throwing away
invaluable time by holding converse with this man; "God has been better to us than we deserve, and we shall leave all
with him."

She turned to move off, much to the relief of Aunt Peggy, who had hard work to hide her impatience, when Golcher
saw that he had gone too far. Catching her arm, he said:

"Don't be so fast; where will you go, if you don't go with me?"

"Gravity is our guide."

"I haven't told you I wouldn't take care of you, have I?"

"But if you are unwilling to include all of us, I do not want your friendship."

"Then for the sake of you I will save you all, though nobody beside me would do so; but, Maggie, I'll expect a little
better treatment from you when I come to your house again."

At this point Golcher saw that the patience of the young lady was exhausted. Her companions were ready to chide her
for halting to speak to him, though the words that passed took but a few minutes. He reached out his hand to lay it on
her arm, but she drew back.

"Maggie," said he, warningly; "when I came down the river bank, I left six Seneca warriors among the trees back there;
they are tired waiting for me; their guns are loaded, and I have only to raise my hand over my head to have 'em fire
every one of 'em; if they do it, they will all be pointed this way."

Maggie Brainerd was sure the Tory spoke the truth.

"You will not do that, Jake, I am sure."

"Not if you act right; follow me."

Maggie reached out her hand as an invitation for Eva to come to her; but Aunt Peggy grasped one of the little palms in
her own, for she had overheard the invitation. When Maggie looked around, her aunt compressed her thin lips and
shook her head in a most decided fashion.

"No, ma'am; Eva stays here: if you want to go off with that scamp you can do so, but the rest of us don't."

"But, aunt, what shall we do? There's no escape for us unless we put ourselves in his care; Jake has promised to see
that no harm befalls us from the Indians."

"Ugh!" exclaimed the aunt, with a shudder of disgust: "I'd rather trust myself with the worst Indians that are now in the
valley than with him."

"Them's my sentiments," broke in Gravity; "we don't want to fool away any more time with him."

"Then you'll take the consequences," said the Tory, trembling with anger. "I offered to protect you and you refused to
have me; I'll still take care of Maggie and Eva, but as for you others, you shall see—"

CHAPTER VI.

The last few sentences that passed between Maggie Brainerd and Golcher, the Tory, were heard, not only by Aunt
Maggie, but by the African servant.

This was due to the fact that the renegade in his excitement forgot his caution, besides which the servant took occasion
to approach quite close to the two.

A very brief space of time was occupied in the conversation, but brief as it was, Gravity was resolved that it should end.
He did not believe the declaration of Golcher that he had a party of half-a-dozen Senecas within call, though it was
possible that he spoke the truth; but beyond a doubt the savages were so numerous that a summons from the Tory
would bring a number to the spot.

When, therefore, Jake adjusted his lips for a signal, Gravity bounded forward and caught him by the throat.

"Don't be in a hurry to let out a yawp; if dere's any hollerin' to be done, I'll take charge of it."

Golcher was as helpless as a child in the vise-like grip of those iron fingers. He not only was unable to speak, but he
found it hard work to breathe.

Dropping his gun, he threw up both hands in a frantic effort to loosen the clutch of those fingers.

"Why, Gravity," said the horrified Maggie; "I'm afraid you will strangle him."

"And I'm afraid I won't," replied the African, putting on a little more pressure.

Gravity, however, had no intention of proceeding to extremities, though he might have found justification in so doing. He
regulated the pressure of his powerful right hand so that his victim, by putting forth his best efforts, was able to get
enough breath to save himself.

"Young man," said Gravity, still holding him fast, "I don't think dis am a healthy place for you; de best ting you can do
am to leave a little sooner dan possible."

"Let—me—let—me—go!" gurgled Golcher, still vainly trying to free himself.

"I don't find dat I've got much use for you, so I'll let you off, but de next time I lays hand onto you, you won't got off so
easy, and bein' as you am goin', I'll give you a boost."

To the delight of Aunt Peggy and the horror of Maggie Brainerd, Gravity Gimp now wheeled the Tory around as though
he were the smallest child, and actually delivered a kick that lifted him clear of the ground.

Not only once, but a second and third time was the indignity repeated. Then, with a fierce effort, Golcher wrenched
himself free from the terrible fingers on the back of his neck, and, plunging among the trees, vanished.

"Dat ar might come handy," said Gravity, picking up the loaded musket which the panic-stricken Tory had left behind
him and handing it to Aunt Peggy, who asked, with a shudder:

"Do you s'pose I would touch it?"

"Let me have it," said Maggie; "I consider it fortunate that we have two guns with us."

It was a good thing, indeed, for Maggie Brainerd, like many of the brave maidens of a hundred years ago, was an
expert in handling the awkward weapons of our Revolutionary sires. With this at her command, the chances were she
would be heard from before the rising of the morrow's sun.

But, if Jake Golcher was a mild enemy before, it was certain he was now an unrelenting one. He would neglect no effort
to avenge himself upon all for the indignity he had received.

The African understood this, and he lost no time in getting away from the spot with the utmost speed.

It was now about five o'clock in the afternoon, but it was the eve of the Fourth of July, and the days were among the
longest in the year. It would not be dark for three hours, and who could tell what might take place in that brief period?

Extremely good fortune had attended our friends thus far, but it was not reasonable to expect it to continue without
break.

The Tory was scarcely out of sight when Gravity started on a trot down the bank, with the others close behind him.

"Bus'ness hab got to be pushed on de jump," he said, by way of explanation; "we ain't done wid dat chap yet."

It was scarcely a minute later when he uttered an exclamation of thankfulness, and those directly behind saw him stoop
down and, grasping the prow of a small flat-boat or scow, draw it from beneath the undergrowth and push it into the
water.

Such craft are not managed by oars, and Gimp handed a long pole to Maggie, saying:

"Use dat de best ye kin, and don't lose no time gittin' to de oder shore."

"But what are you going to do, Gravity?"

"I'se gwine wid you, but I'm afeard de boat won't hold us all, and I'll hab to ride on de outside."

The Susquehanna is generally quite shallow along shore, and it was necessary to push the scow several yards before the
water was found deep enough to float it with its load.

Gravity laid the two guns within the boat, and then, picking up the petite Maggie, hastily carried her the short distance
and placed her dry-shod within, where she immediately assumed control by means of the pole, which was a dozen feet
in length.

Aunt Peggy and Eva were deposited beside her, by which time the scow was sunk within a few inches of the gunwales:
had the African followed them, it would have been swamped.

As it was, the faithful negro was assuming great risk, for, as have stated, he could not swim a stroke; but the
circumstances compelled such a course, and he did not hesitate.

"You see, folks," said he, as he began shoving the craft out into the river; "dat dis wessel won't carry any more
passengers."

Just then he stepped into a hole, which threw him forward on his face with a loud splash, his head going under and
nearly strangling him. He was thoughtful enough to let go the boat, and recovered himself with considerable effort, after
causing a slight scream from Eva, who was afraid he was going to drown.

The freedom from immediate danger ended when the fugitives put out from the shore.

The suddenness of the defeat, pursuit, and massacre at Wyoming prevented anything like the use of boats by the fleeing
patriots, who were beset by a merciless foe.

Had the scow been near where the main stream of fugitives were rushing into the river and striving to reach the opposite
bank, the boat would not have kept afloat for a minute. It not only would have been grasped by a score of the fugitives,
but it would have become the target for a number of rifles, which could hardly have failed to kill all the occupants.

The stream rapidly deepened, and by and by Gimp was up to his neck and moving rather gingerly, with his two broad
hands resting on the stern of the boat.

Maggie Brainerd stood erect in the craft, pole in hand, and, bending slightly as she pressed the support against the river
bottom, held on until it was almost beyond her reach, when she withdrew it, and, reaching forward, placed the lower
end against the bottom again, shoving the awkward vessel with as much skill as the negro himself could have shown.

Aunt Peggy, as trim and erect as ever, was seated near the prow, while Eva nestled at her feet with her head in her lap.
When they observed how deep the scow sank in the water, naturally enough their fears were withdrawn from the great
calamity, and centered upon the one of drowning.

The ancient lady glanced askance at the turbid current, while Eva turned pale and shivered more than once, as she
looked affrightedly at the hungry river that seemed to be climbing slowly up the frail partition which kept it away from
the fugitives.

Suddenly the feet of Gravity failed to reach bottom, and, sinking down until his ears and mouth were scarcely above the
surface, he bore slightly upon the support and began threshing the water with his feet, so that at a distance the scow
looked as if it had a steam screw at the stern driving it forward.

This rather cumbersome means of propulsion really accomplished more than would be supposed. Despite the fact that
the African could not float himself, he managed his pedal extremities with skill, and the boat was quick to respond.

CHAPTER VII.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Fred Godfrey found himself mixed up in some events of a stirring character.

It will be recalled that while hunting for his friends he was told that they had taken to a flat-boat, or scow, and were
probably across the Susquehanna.

If such were the fact, the true course for Fred was to follow them without a second's delay.

His informant no doubt meant to tell the truth, but he had given a wrong impression.

It was true, as has been shown, that the female members of the Brainerd family had started across the river under

charge of the herculean Gravity Gimp, but Mr. Brainerd himself was still on the side where the battle took place, though
his son believed he was with the others that had taken to the boat.

Fred was making his way as best he could to the river side, when he became aware that he had attracted the notice of
several Indians, who made for him. In the general flurry he did not notice the alarming fact till the party was almost upon
him. Then he turned and fired among them, threw away his gun, and made for the river at the top of his speed.

He was remarkably fleet of foot, and in a fair race would have held his own with any Iroquois in Wyoming Valley; but
there was no telling when or where some more of the dusky foes would leap up and join in the pursuit.

It was fortunate, perhaps, that the Susquehanna was so near, for the pursuit was no more than fairly begun when it was
reached. Knowing he would be compelled to swim for life, he ran as far out in the water as he could, and then took
what may be called a tremendous "header," throwing himself horizontally through the air, but with his head a little lower
than the rest of the body, and with his arms extended and hands pressed palm to palm in front.

He struck the water at a point beyond his depth, and drawing in one deep inspiration as he went beneath, he swam with
might and main until he could hold his breath no longer.

When he rose to the surface it was a long way beyond where he went under, and much farther than where the Indians
were looking for him to reappear.

But they were ready with cocked guns, and the moment the head came to view they opened fire; but Fred expected
that, and waiting only long enough to catch a mouthful of air, he went under and sped along like a loon beneath the
surface.

Every rod thus gained increased his chances, but it did not by any means remove the danger, for it takes no very skillful
marksman to pick off a man across the Susquehanna, and many a fugitive on that fateful day fell after reaching the
eastern shore.

Working with his usual energy, Fred Godfrey soon found himself close to Monocacy Island, covered as it was with
driftwood and undergrowth, and upon which many of the settlers had taken refuge.

Almost the first person whom he recognized was the middle-aged friend, who told him about the escape of the Brainerd
family in the scow that Maggie and the servant had propelled across the Susquehanna.

This friend was now able to add that he had seen them crossing at a point considerably below the island. He saw them
fired at by the Indians and Tories on shore, but he was satisfied that no one of the little company was struck.

To the dismay of the youth, the neighbor assured him that Mr. Brainerd, his father, was not with the company.

This made another change in the plans of the son. Quite hopeful that those who had crossed the river were beyond
danger, his whole solicitude was now for his beloved parent. Despite the danger involved, he resolved to return to the
western shore, and to stay there until he learned about his parent.

Fred was too experienced, however, to act rashly. He carefully watched his chance and swam down the stream until he
was well below the swarm of fugitives, and so managed to reach the shore without detection, or rather without
recognition, since it was impossible that he should escape observation.

Finally, he stepped out of the water and went up the bank, without, as he believed, attracting attention, and, suppressing
all haste, walked in the direction of Forty Fort.

The battle-field, whereon the famous monument was afterwards erected, was about two miles above Forty Fort, where
a feeble garrison was left when Colonel Zebulon Butler marched up the river bank, and met the Tories and Indians on
that July afternoon.

Fred had landed at a point near the battle-ground, and he was in doubt whether to make search through the surrounding
wood and marsh, or to steal down the river to the fort in the hope of finding his father there.

Many of the fugitives in their wild flight had thrown away their weapons (as indeed Fred Godfrey himself had done), so
that it was an easy matter for him to find a gun to take the place of the one from which he had parted.

The youth made up his mind to visit the fort, and he had taken a dozen steps in that direction, when with whom should
he come face to face but his beloved father himself?

The meeting was a happy one indeed, the two embracing with delight.

The father had no thought that his son had reached Wyoming, though he knew that Washington had been asked to send
them re-enforcements.

Fred told the good news about the rest of the family: it was joy indeed to the parent, who was on his way to the river
bank to look for them at the time he met his son.

Mr. Brainerd said that he had fought as long as there was any hope, when he turned and fled with the rest. It was the
same aimless effort to get away, without any thought of the right course to take; but he was more fortunate than most of

the others, for he succeeded in reaching the cover of the woods without harm.

"The best thing for us to do," said the parent, "is to go up the river so as to get above the point where, it seems, the
most danger threatens."

"You mean toward Fort Wintermoot—that is, where it stood, for I see that it has been burned."

"Yes, but we needn't go the whole distance; night isn't far off, and it will be a hard task to find the folks after we get
across."

Accordingly, father and son moved to the north, that is up the western bank of the river. This took them toward Fort
Wintermoot, which was still smoking, and toward Fort Jenkins, just above. At the same time they were leaving the
scene of the struggle a short time before.

Mr. Brainerd had no weapon, while his son carried the newly-found rifle and his two pistols. He had drawn the charges
of these and reloaded them, so that they were ready for use.

"There's one thing that ought to be understood," said Mr. Brainerd, after they had walked a short distance; "and that is
what is to be done by the survivor in case one of us falls."

"If I should be shot or captured," said Fred, impressively, "don't waste any time in trying to help me, but do all you can
to get across the river, rejoin the family, and push on toward Stroudsburg; for I don't believe you'll be safe at any point
this side."

"I promise you to do my utmost in that direction; and, if it should be my misfortune to fall into their hands, you must not
imperil your life for me."

"I shall be careful of what I do," said Fred, refusing to make any more definite pledge, after having secured that of his
companion not to step aside to befriend him in the event of misfortune.

Little did either dream that the test was so close at hand.

CHAPTER VIII.

The two were compelled to pick their way with extreme care, for there was no saying when some of the wandering
Indians would come upon them. It was necessary, as our friends thought, to go considerably farther up, before it would
be at all safe to cross the river.

They were yet some distance from the point, when a slight disturbance was heard in a patch of woods in front, and they
stopped.

"Wait a minute or two, until I find out what it means," said Fred; "it will save time to go through there, but it won't do to
undertake it if it isn't safe."

And before Mr. Brainerd could protest, his son moved forward, as stealthily as an Indian scout, while the former
concealed himself until the issue of the reconnoissance should become known.

The old gentleman realized too vividly the horrors of the massacre still going on around them to permit himself to run any
unnecessary risk, now that there was a prospect of rejoining his family; and he regretted that his courageous child had
gone forward so impulsively, instead of carefully flanking what seemed to be a dangerous spot.

But it was too late now to recall him, for he was beyond sight, and Mr. Brainerd could only wait and hope for the best,
while, it may be truly said, he feared the worst.

It was not long before Fred Godfrey began strongly to suspect he had committed an error, from which it required all the
skill at his command to extricate himself.

The wood that he had entered covered something less than an acre, and was simply a denser portion of the wilderness
through which they had been making their way. He had scarcely entered it when the murmur of voices told him that
others were in advance, and he knew enough of the Indians to recognize the sounds as made by them.

It was at that very moment he ought to have withdrawn, and, rejoining Mr. Brainerd, left the neighborhood as silently as
possible, but his curiosity led him on.

That curiosity was gratified by the sight of six of his own people held prisoners by a group of twice as many Indians,
who, beyond question, were making preparations for putting their victims to death.

As seems to be the rule, these prisoners, all of whom were able-bodied men, most of them young, were in a state of
despair and collapse; they were standing up unbound and unarmed, and looking stolidly at their captors, who were also
on their feet, but were talking and gesticulating with much earnestness.

The most remarkable figure in the group was a woman. She was doing the principal part of the talking, and in a voice so
loud, and accompanied by such energetic gestures, that there could be no doubt that she was the leader.

She was attired in Indian costume, and was evidently a half-breed, though it has been claimed by many that she was of
pure Indian blood. She was beyond middle life, her hair being plentifully sprinkled with gray, but she still possessed
great strength and activity, and was well fitted to command the Indians, as she did when they marched into and took
possession of Forty Fort on the succeeding day.

A son of this strange woman had been killed a short time before, and she was roused to the highest point of fury. She
demanded not only the blood of those already captured, but that others should be brought in; and she had established a
camp in the place named, until a sufficient number could be secured to satisfy, to a partial extent, her vengeful mood.

She is known in history as Queen Esther and as Katharine Montour. She was queen of the Seneca tribe of Indians—
one of the Iroquois or Six Nations—the most powerful confederation of aborigines ever known on this continent.

Her home was in central New York, where the Six Nations had been...